


All that Could've Been

by kj_feybarn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AgriCorps (Star Wars), Drabbles, Handcuffed Together, Hardeen arc, Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan Clone, Obi-Wan stayed with the Agricorps, One-Shots, Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan from Melida/Daan kicking and screaming, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Time Travel, more time travel, slightly dark?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kj_feybarn/pseuds/kj_feybarn
Summary: Drabbles, one-shots, prompt fills and other short stories... Most will focus on Obi-Wan, but not all of them.Chapter 3: Obi-Wan & Cloned!Obi-Wan (background Dooku) - In Want of FamilyChapter 4: Jango/Obi-Wan (unrequited), background Satine/Obi-Wan - OrbitChapter 5: Cody/Obi-Wan - More than Duty and Death (time travel, post Order 66, Hardeen Arc)Chapter 6: Agricorps & Sith Obi-Wan, background Maul/Obi-Wan - TreasureChapter 7: Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan from Melida/Daan kicking and screaming, Obi-Wan's not done helping the Young - Speak for the Voiceless
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul
Comments: 221
Kudos: 1209





	1. Jango/Obi-Wan - Prompt: Dancing

“This is ridiculous.” The words, dismissive as they were, lost most of their bite, the way they were being muttered into Obi-Wan’s neck.

“It was also _your_ idea,” Obi-Wan felt obliged to point out, forcing his eyes open. He wasn’t quite sure when his eyes had fallen closed, and was grateful that the way he and Fett were positioned—bodies close together, Jango’s hand on his hip and his face in his neck, a tactic that kept his face hidden, even as it approximated intimacy—meant that the Bounty Hunter hadn’t noticed.

This was supposed to be _uncomfortable_. This was the man that had literally hunted Obi-Wan down and was trying to bring him in for a bounty. Obi-wan was absolutely not supposed to find the way their bodies moved together to be quite this appealing.

Fett hummed a little at that, neither an agreement or a dismissal as he twisted them around in what was an excellent display of footwork. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite decide if it was Fett showing off, or if the man was just trying to knock Obi-Wan off balance. Obi-Wan would absolutely not admit that he had been off balance since Fett had pulled him close and told him to ‘ _go with it, Kenobi, if you don’t want us both to die_.’ “Doesn’t mean it’s not ridiculous.”

It _was_ ridiculous. This whole situation, since Obi-Wan had noted the man trailing him two weeks ago up until this point, was ridiculous. “It’s _also_ your fault.”

Fett snorted at that. “If you’d just let yourself be handcuffed like you were supposed to…” the hand on Obi-Wan’s waist shifted down, and Obi-Wan could feel the cuff around his wrist biting into his skin in response.

“If you hadn’t been trying to handcuff me in the first place.” It’d been half instinct, half desperation. Fett had gotten one cuff around Obi-Wan’sright wrist, and had been seconds away from clasping the second cuff around his left.

Obi-Wan had maneuvered them so the cuff had snapped into place around Fett’s wrist instead.

And of course, Fett wasn’t the sort to carry around cheap binders. No. He just happened to have Force-resistant, beskar-lined cuffs.

“You’re the one who lost the key.” Fett sounded far more amused by the situation than Obi-Wan thought was strictly appropriate, as though this whole situation was secretly hilarious.

Obi-Wan didn’t exactly have a good response to that. He _had_ been the one who’d lost the key, but it sounded a little foolish to admit that he’d thought the item in Fett’s hand had been a knife and he’d lashed out on instinct. Though Fett had probably figured it out.

The key, however, was now lost deep in the planet’s sewer system and if they wanted to get the spare they’d have to return to Fett’s ship.

Obi-Wan suspected that if he stepped into Fett’s ship he wouldn’t be leaving it until Fett deposited him with whoever had placed the bounty on Obi-Wan. Which meant that was _clearly_ not happening.

So for now the two of them were temporarily handcuffed together, tugging each other around in a constant battle of wills. Obi-Wan saw no reason why being handcuffed to a bounty hunter should stop him from trying to finish his mission, even if said bounty hunter critiqued his every move with dry condescension, that occasionally actually managed to be somewhat helpful.

Still, Obi-Wan was not going to let Fett have the last word, and if the ‘blame game’ was far too childish a pursuit to get caught up in, he’d blame it on Fett’s bad influence.

“Well, _you’re_ the one who pulled us into a night club.”

And not the sort of grinding to raunchy music, neon lights spinning, overly-crowded night club that would have been almost ridiculously easy to hide in. No, Fett had somehow picked what had to be the _one_ night club that was soft lights, slow music, and painful intimacy. He didn’t even think it should be allowed to call itself a night club, the sign above the door had been _incredibly_ misleading.

Obi-Wan glanced to the side to see where the two members of Death Watch were circling the dance floor, standing out like a sore thumb prowling the edges of the floor decked in their armor and carrying enough weapons to level a small palace. Obi-Wan couldn’t see their eyes, helmeted as they were, but he was fairly certain that he and Jango, curled into each other like lovers as they were on the dance floor slipped beneath their attention.

Fett just laughed, the low noise and the soft huff of air against his neck sending a thrill down Obi-Wan’s back. “I wouldn’t have need to, but you’re the one who decided to catch the attention of every single low life in this city.”

Now, _that_ was hardly fair, that was _absolutely_ at least _half,_ no three-quarters, Fett’s fault.

“That’s a _very_ selective way of looking at the situation.” Yes, Obi-Wan had been digging through the underground to discover who’d been threatening the king’s daughter, and it was his fault they’d ended up in the cantina that the fight had started out in. _But_ , Fett was the one who’d _started_ the fight two days ago that had led to Death Watch realizing that _the_ Jango Fett was on planet, and it was Death Watch they were hiding from now, so, this was _quite_ _clearly_ not Obi-Wan’s fault.

Jango seemed to sense his thoughts, because he huffed another laugh. “Details, now if you’d _stop_ drawing attention to us by being as stiff as that saber of yours, I’m in the middle of romancing you, so relax.”

Obi-Wan felt heat flush over his skin. He knew that Fett was talking about their last minute disguise as lovers on the dance floor, but Obi-Wan couldn’t be blamed for the way his mind immediately jumped to something far less innocent.

The way that Fett was holding him close now was only part of it. No, it was the way Fett had dragged him into a diner for lunch when he’d been working for too long—Fett had said he was hungry and Obi-Wan was starving him, but he’d also bought Obi-Wan food and hadn’t even tried to lace it with sedatives—the way Fett had kept an appropriate amount of distance between them in the bed they’d been sharing, but also hadn’t stabbed Obi-Wan for the way Obi-Wan had curled into him in his sleep; the way Fett had let Obi-Wan bounce his suspicions off of him like he was his actual mission partner and not the man who’d been chasing him for a week.

The past four days of being trapped at Fett’s side had been… well… it had been almost _enjoyable_. And if Obi-Wan had ever considered what it would be like to be romanced, well, Fett wasn’t far off the mark.

Clearly, it was just a sign that Obi-Wan was sleep deprived.

Still, he relaxed a little, leaning into Fett and letting Fett guide their steps around the dance floor.

Obi-Wan would figure out how to get rid of the cuffs eventually, _without_ Fett’s help, and then he’d finish his mission and this would be yet another bizarre story to give the Jedi gossip vine.

But for now, he’d let Fett ‘romance’ him.


	2. Fox: Time Travel

Fox bared his teeth, shifting the blaster in his hands—too big, the blasters had _always_ been too big, but they’d learned to use them anyways—so that it was pointed straight at the longneck’s head to show he meant business.

The Kaminoan froze, their hand still around his vod’s wrist.

“Let him go.”

When he’d arrived in the past, not even a full day ago, and once he’d realized that this wasn’t some dying hallucination, Fox had thought that he’d wait it out these few years until he could access the wider galaxy to act.

That plan, half-thought out as it was, had disappeared the moment one of the Kaminoan’s had come to decommission his brother. CC-3021 had never had a name. To be honest, Fox could barely remember him, it’d been so long ago, and Fox had lost so many brothers.

It didn’t matter. Because CC-3021 _deserved_ a name. Deserved a chance to live. He wasn’t going to let the Kaminoans kill another of his brothers.

—In that future he wouldn’t let be, Fox had ached for the battlefield. Had ached for the simple truth of a blaster in his hand and an enemy in front of him.

Not the confusion of the Senate, where the men and women who were supposed to be their allies, supposed to be their _leaders_ were more often enemy than friend.

The Kaminoans weren’t Clankers. Weren’t Sith Lords. Or Cyborg Generals. But Fox had lived a long life—short, aged at twice the speed, then thrown away with the rest of the Republic—and he knew who the enemies were now.

It wasn’t a battlefield. But there was something so much simpler about a blaster in his hand and an enemy in front of him.—

“You don’t get to kill him.” Fox’s voice didn’t shake, though he could see his brothers frozen and terrified where they stood around them. “You don’t get to kill any of us anymore.”

The longneck hadn’t quite realized just how little control they had, not yet. “CC-1010, put down that blaster.”

“No.” He should have planned for this, but it was too late now, and there was no going back. He was one clone, not even full grown. But he’d lost everything once—his vod’e, his life, his _soul_ —and he’d raze this whole planet to the ground before he let that happen again.

One of his brothers moved, bringing their own blaster up to point at the Kaminoan. Fox supposed he wasn’t surprised it was Cody, Cody who would prove himself so capable he’d be the highest ranked vod in the army, but that only meant he’d had further to fall in the end. Fox had seen Cody once, after the chips, the memory fogged the way all chipped memories were.

Cody had woken up, and had put his own blaster to his head.

Fox wouldn’t let that happen again.

The longneck was starting to sound nervous. “CC-1010, CC-2224, you will put those blasters down or you’ll be decommissioned.”

Fox stared at the Kaminoan for a long moment, before tightening his finger on the trigger and watching the longneck fall, a hole in their skinny head. “See how _you_ like being decommissioned.”

“1010!” Fox turned his head a little to find Bly—still just 5052—staring at the corpse in horror before turning to Fox and staring at him as though he’d never seen him before.

Fox met his eyes evenly. “They were going to kill 3021. Just like they killed 1198 and 2209 and all of the other brothers who don’t come back.”

“1010…” 3021 was shaking a little, frozen in place beside the corpse. “They’ll decommission you.”

Fox wondered when he’d realized, _truly_ realized, that what the Kaminoans did to them was murder.

“Not if I kill them first.”

“1010—”

“Fox,” Fox interrupted, and Cody blinked at him in confusion. “My name is Fox.”

“Fox,” Cody—2224, Fox reminded himself, he couldn’t call his brothers by their names until they chose them for themselves, it would be unfair of him to steal from them the opportunity to choose their own names—said the name slowly, like he was trying to feel the word in his mouth, as though he were tasting individuality for the first time. “We’re clones, you can’t—”

“I don’t care.” He had, he had cared for so long. Long after the rest of the vod’e were beginning to see themselves as real people, Fox, surrounded by Senators and Politicians who saw him as disposable, had still just been product, a clone, _nothing_. It was only after he’d become _truly_ nothing, with less autonomy than even a droid, and then dragged himself back into being—just long enough to die his own man—that he’d realized what so many of his brothers had already learned.

Yes, he was a clone. But that didn’t make him any less human.

Or it hadn’t, not until the chip.

“Fox.” Wolffe—3636—looked far less perturbed by the turn of events then the rest of their squad, but then Wolffe had been decanted with a sabaac face that could put the entire Senate to shame. “You can’t kill all of them.”

Wolffe was probably right. Fox couldn’t.

“I don’t care,” he repeated. He didn’t. He didn’t care. He was better than they realized, he’d take far more of the longnecks down than they’d be prepared for. But eventually he’d lose. Eventually they’d bring in Fett or the other trainers and Fox would fall.

Fox had no clue what would happen then.

Fox had always been a meticulous planner, but he’d lost his chance for meticulous the moment he’d put the blaster bolt in the Kaminoan’s head.

But looking at 3021 standing there, still alive, still breathing—maybe this time he’d live long enough to choose a name—Fox didn’t regret it. It was worth it.

He weighed the blaster in his hand—too big, it had always been too big—and moved towards the door.

He stopped beside 3021, ignoring the corpse on the ground. “You should choose a name, vod. You deserve one.”

The alarms hadn’t started going off yet, Fox could run, could hide. He wouldn’t, though. He’d chosen his course and he’d follow it through.

He heard his brothers behind him. He hoped they wouldn’t follow him. He’d never been meant to lead. That had been Cody, or Ponds, or even Wolffe.

His blaster was in his hand—too big, but they’d learned to use it anyways—and he knew where his enemy was.


	3. Obi-Wan: Cloned

Obi-Wan had been told by several of the older Masters that he’d been a cute kid, but staring at a mini-him— _no,_ he reminded himself, the boy was his own person, he’d spent too much time with his men to think otherwise—but a child-aged clone of himself… well, as conceited as it sounded, even in his own mind, he had to admit that they were right.

Young him must have been _adorable_ , this child certainly was.

Obi-Wan fell to one knee, keeping his movements slow so as not to spook the child, who was staring at him with deceptively sharp eyes. Obi-Wan was not oblivious to the knife hidden behind the boy’s back, but said nothing about it. “Do you have a name, young one?”

The boy nodded. “Qui.”

Obi-Wan did his best to keep the flinch from showing. “All right, Qui. My name is Obi-Wan, Dooku sent me. Will you come with me?”

The boy stood still—frighteningly still, Obi-Wan hadn’t learned that sort of stillness until he’d been older—staring at Obi-Wan for a long moment. “Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan nodded, tensing for any possible reactions. If Dooku had been _raising_ this child, there was no telling what he had told the boy about Obi-Wan and how the boy might react.

Strangely the boy seemed to relax, Obi-Wan could see the hand on the knife hilt loosen it’s grip. “Master tells me all about you. He says that other than him, you’re the only one I can trust.”

It took all Obi-Wan’s skill not to gape unflatteringly at that. Because _what_? Why would Dooku have done that?

What was Obi-Wan even supposed to think of that?

But then, that was hardly the strangest part of this whole situation.

No. Dooku had _cloned_ him. Had named his clone after Qui-Gon. Was _raising_ him.

Strange didn’t even begin to cover this situation. It was downright disturbing. The Force around him was murky, with a strange itch along the edges of his senses, a discordant twist, whispering in uneasy warning.

Needless to say, Obi-Wan had a very bad feeling about all of this.

Still, disturbing or not, Dooku must have cared to _some_ degree about the young clone. He could have left the boy to starve to death, locked in the strangely luxurious bedroom—with a truly unnecessary amount of what looked like _very_ soft pillows and blankets and lined with a truly staggering number of potted plants—in his Serenno Mansion.

But Dooku hadn’t. No, Dooku had refused to tell anyone a single helpful thing since his capture, refused to reveal his Sith Master or any of the Separatists’ plots. But he _had_ told Obi-Wan this.

With the implied promise—that Obi-Wan didn’t fully believe—that if Obi-Wan trusted Dooku enough to follow his instructions, then Dooku would be far more receptive to answering their questions.

Still, Obi-Wan had thought it was a risk worth taking.

In his wildest imaginings, he would have never guessed _this_. A young clone, only seven or eight, of Obi-Wan himself. That Dooku had called his… _padawan_.

“Well, in that your Master’s right.” Obi-Wan did not say that that was the _only_ thing that Dooku was right about, Qui clearly cared about Dooku. It was in the way he said the word Master. The way he trusted so whole-heartedly in Dooku’s assertion that Obi-Wan was trustworthy.

Obi-Wan stood. He wasn’t a tall man—though he wasn’t short either, no matter _what_ Anakin said about it—still, he felt as though he towered over the child.

He reached out a hand, still trying to stay as gentle and safe as he could, despite the steadily building unease. He would not take the uneasiness caused by Dooku out on this innocent child. “Come. We need to go to Coruscant.” He wondered how his troopers would react when he arrived back at the ship with this cloned child.

Qui stared at his hand for a moment, as though not quite sure what he was supposed to do with it, but after a moment he took it. Obi-Wan could feel the early beginnings of callouses, clearly Dooku had already started training him. Obi-Wan shuddered to think about what sort of training Dooku had put the boy through. Was it the simple training beginnings of an initiate? Or had it been darker, crueler. More befitting the training a _Sith_ would give their apprentice.

Qui tugged on his hand, pulling for his attention. “Is that where Master is?”

Obi-Wan felt a stir of discomfort at the eagerness, but that was hardly fair. Dooku was all this boy knew. “Yes, but he’s asked me to care for you while he’s… indisposed.” He felt strangely like he was lying, despite the fact that it was the simple truth. Dooku _had_ asked Obi-Wan to take charge of Qui.

Qui nodded, more accepting than Obi-Wan would have guessed. “He’s very busy. But he’ll still have time for me, right?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. “I don’t know, Qui. Your Master he’s gotten himself into some trouble. That’s why he asked me to come for you.”

“Oh.” There was a clear _ache_ at that, lacing the boy’s voice, echoing within the Force. “Is he… is he going to be hurt?”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. Dooku was _evil_. He’d committed atrocity after atrocity, had edged this war on further and further, had killed _so many_. Had killed innocents, had killed Obi-Wan’s men, had killed Obi-Wan’s family.

Yet this little boy loved him.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to him.” It was true. Currently the Senate was in uproar, Dooku’s fate was entirely uncertain. Though it was almost certain that Dooku would face repercussions, possibly deadly ones. “But whatever happens. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

Qui looked up at him, and there was something a little unnerving in those blue-gray eyes. Obi-Wan hoped his own eyes had never had that look in them, because it made him feel deeply uncomfortable. “I know. Master promised.” He turned forward, and some of the ache cleared from the Force, as though his worries had been eased. “Master’s going to be okay. He promised that once you came, everything would be good. That it would just be the three of us.” Obi-Wan opened his mouth, ready to try and prepare Qui for the idea that it might _not_ be fine, but Qui continued, voice fervent. “Forever.”

In the Force, the words echoed.


	4. Jango/Obi-Wan - Unrequited

Jango flicked his fingers in a subtle signal, and watched as one of his men immediately stepped between the Jedi and the former Duchess, ostensibly to lead the Duchess to her seat of ‘honor’ next to Skirata. The Duchess despised the man, and Skirata despised her.

A second of his men led the Jedi to his own seat of honor, the seat to Jango’s right. Kenobi gave him a polite bow, before taking his seat. “Mand’alor Fett.”

Jango slid a practiced smile onto his face, one he knew for a fact was considered charming. “Master Kenobi.”

When the Republic had requested a treaty with Mandalore, in hopes that Mandalore might be willing to ally with the Republic now that they were no longer _pacifist_ , Jango had agreed.

When the Republic had requested that a Jedi lead the negotiations, Jango had turned his eyes to where Kryze sat, a prisoner in her former palace, and had once again agreed, requesting any Jedi with _experience_ on Mandalore.

He’d had no real, solid evidence that the rumors of the duchess and her Jedi protector were true, but her reaction was proof enough.

For what must have been the first time in her life, Satine Kryze had almost been _interesting_ , the way she’d bared her teeth and hissed that if Jango hurt _him_ she’d make Jango pay for it.

Jango had suggested that she be on her best behavior, his own smile just as vicious.

Jango wasn’t fool enough to hurt Kryze’s former lover; Mandalore was stronger now, but directly opposing the Republic would cause problems he had no intention of dealing with, at least not yet.

Not even the fact that Obi-Wan Kenobi was a Jedi was enough to push Jango to exact a well-needed revenge. The war across the galaxy was killing the Jedi fast enough for Jango to be satisfied, and for now Obi-Wan Kenobi was the perfect tool for a different, more subtle revenge.

Satine Kryze had tried to twist Mandalore, tried to twist everything Jango loved into a strange facsimile of itself.

Jango was more than willing to return the favor.

Which was why he had Obi-Wan Kenobi sit at his side for every meal, invited the jetii to spar with him every morning, encouraged Boba to seek Kenobi out and distract him between rounds of negotiation.

He made sure that Kryze was present for every moment of it, kept on the outskirts, allowing her and Kenobi only the barest of moments together and never alone, a Mando’ad always hovering along the outskirts. Satine Kryze was still a target for the more disgruntled Mando’ad, after all, it was only his duty as her Mand’alor that Jango ensure she had proper protection.

It was all in sharp contrast to the amount of time he had Kenobi spend at Jango’s side. There was always more negotiating to do, after all, always more need for Kenobi to use that silver tongue of his to try and sway Jango to the Republic’s point of view.

Jango allowed it. He’d decided before Kenobi had ever sent foot on Manda’yaim what matters he was willing to ‘bend’ on, and Kenobi’s words, no matter how pretty or entreating, weren’t going to change that. But Jango would let Obi-Wan think that he was winning at least a few of their arguments.

And argue they did. Obi-Wan Kenobi was always the picture of politeness around the negotiating table, his sharper words hidden under carefully misleading layers. But after a week of one on one negotiating, Jango started to see that sharpness unsheathe itself, as Obi-Wan verbally went for Jango’s jugular without even a hint of apology.

It shouldn’t be so invigorating, having Obi-Wan do his best to verbally eviscerate him, calling him out, challenging him.

But it was, and Jango found himself looking forward to those arguments. Found himself looking forward to Obi-Wan sitting with him and Boba during a more private dinner and guiding Boba in the finer art of verbally slaying his opponents.

“You should be careful, Fett,” Kryze warned him, a month into negotiations and her eyes hooded with grief. “Obi-Wan’s the sun.”

Fett raised an eyebrow at that, restraining a scoff. “Afraid he’ll burn me, Kryze? How sweet.”

She smiled then, and there was something almost vicious about it, as though she thought she’d won a victory. “Oh Fett, that’ll be the least of your worries.”

It wasn’t even a week later that Jango realized what Satine had warned him about. Obi-Wan was in the middle of twisting Jango’s advisors into agreeing to set aside space in Mandalorian space for clone soldiers who wished to leave the army.

It hadn’t been an item on Jango’s list of pre-determined items to acquiesce to, but nor was it on his list of things he _wouldn’t_ acquiesce on either.

He was willing to let himself be convinced.

Especially when Obi-Wan looked up at him, fire in his eyes and Mando’a on his lips, his words both plea and demand in one.

And Jango was filled with _want_.

Jango had chosen Obi-Wan Kenobi to hurt Kryze. Wanted Kryze to watch as her former lover solidified Mandalore’s new position within the galaxy.

And if he’d flirted and teased, if he’d kept the two orbiting each other without being able to come together, if he had forced Kryze to watch as Jango kept Obi-Wan at his side… there had been no deeper intention than causing Kryze pain.

There had been no serious _intent_.

Some time in the past month, the charming smiles that Jango had worn, a facade meant to charm, to flirt, had steadily become real. The spars had turned friendly, turned into seduction. The dinners with Boba had turned from a ploy into a comfort.

If Obi-Wan Kenobi was the sun, than Jango had fallen blindly into his orbit.

The realization hit, sharp, and sudden, and _painful_.

Because Obi-Wan still glanced around the room whenever he entered, eyes glancing past Jango as he searched for Satine as though to check that she hadn’t been hurt since the last time he’d seen her.

He might tease or prod at Jango, but never with the familiarity he did the small group of clones that had escorted him to Mandalore.

He might eat at Jango’s table, and spar with him in the early hours after dawn, but it was always as Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Negotiator, never just _Obi-Wan_.

Jango had fallen for Obi-Wan, accidentally, foolishly, blindly.

Obi-Wan, it seemed, remained oblivious and unaffected.

He was the sun heedless of those trapped in his orbit.

The hint of victory he’d sensed in Kryze when she’d warned him made sudden sense. Sure in the fact that in _this_ she would win.

Mandalore had been Kryze’s, but Jango had taken it back. Pried it from her grip and reformed it into what it _should have always been_.

So Obi-Wan’s heart was Satine’s? There was no reason it had to stay that way.

After all, Jango had already won once.


	5. Cody/Obi-Wan - Time travel, Hardeen Arc

CC-2224 walked stiff and perfectly in sync just behind Lord Vader through the grim hallways of the conquered temple. Vader had led a massacre against the people who’d had the temerity to try and keep the temple’s contents out of Vader’s hands.

CC-2224 didn’t know what treasures the inhabitants had been trying to protect, what they’d thought worth dying for. It wasn’t his job to know.

He also didn’t know why Vader had singled him out to join him in the temple, but he wouldn’t let himself draw any further attention if he could help it. Drawing Vader’s attention more often than not meant dying, and CC-2224 might not have much to live for, but that didn’t mean he was in a hurry to die either.

Vader seemed to know where he was going despite the maze-like structure of the Temple. CC-2224 followed him obediently, not allowing himself to be curious at the strange etchings and drawings that marked the wall.

Vader stopped outside a doorway that looked little different from every other doorway they’d passed.

“Commander—” CC-2224 wasn’t a commander anymore, clones weren’t allowed such positions, but Vader never seemed to care for correction, so CC-2224 didn’t say anything in protest, “—you should be perfectly suited for this mission.”

CC-2224 didn’t know what that meant. He knew better than to ask. “Sir.”

“There will be an orb within this room. Bring it to me.”

CC-2224 was familiar enough with tests he was meant to fail, and this had the feel of one. It did not change the fact that CC-2224 would do it either way. It didn’t change the fact that he didn’t have a _choice_.

“Yes, sir.”

He drew his blaster, holding it steady as he stepped through the doorway. He glanced around the room quickly, some part of him suspecting a trap.

Nothing stood out to him, but then, if the trap was going to be obvious, then Vader would have likely dealt with it himself.

He scanned the room again, looking for something that might be the orb that Vader had sent him in for.

It was a small room, small enough that CC-2224 could likely cross the entirety of it in less than a dozen steps. It was also, so far as he could tell, completely empty. He narrowed his eyes, his sense of _trap_ weighing more heavily on him.

_Then we’ll just have to spring the trap, won’t we, Cody?_

CC-2224 stiffened, immediately trying to quash the whisper of a memory. He could not allow himself to think of _him_ when Vader was so close.

There was some part of CC-2224 that knew, without a doubt, that if Vader knew about CC-2224’s tayl’kar, that even the memory of the treasured voice would be stripped from him.

Hidden somewhere in his mind was his beloved cyare’s name, but it was hidden deep down, and CC-2224 knew better than to search for it. Better to love his tayl’kar nameless, than to risk what happened when CC-2224 remembered too much.

Still, his tayl’kar was right. It was better to spring the trap.

Not that he knew _how_ to spring the trap.

There was a whisper of noise, like wind brushing leaves across the ground, he could almost imagine the sensation of it against his armor.

It was a nonsense thought, he wouldn’t feel wind through his armor unless it was a full on gale, and he was in a temple, no wind or leaves.

_Trust the Force, Cody._

CC-2224 neither knew nor cared what the Force was, he did not trust it. Still, he trusted his tayl’kar, even if he was just the whisper of a memory. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the sensation again, where it was tugging him, guiding his steps.

He could picture how his tayl’kar would react perfectly, a sharp grin hiding soft eyes. _That was quite the leap of faith, Cody._

No. Not faith, not with his tayl’kar. It was trust.

His foot landed on something not the floor and he almost tumbled to the ground, only fast reflexes allowing him to catch himself.

He opened his eyes, looking down. A slightly glowing green orb—that had most certainly _not_ been there before—lay on the ground.

He bent down to pick it up, twisting it in his hands, the light seemed to twist around it unnaturally.

He turned to the door, where Vader was looming just on the outer edges. CC-2224 did not understand why Vader could not have done this himself. But it wasn’t his place to ask.

He stepped forward, but something tugged at him. He looked down for just a moment, there were shadows, passing through the green of the orb. He frowned, looking a little closer.

“Commander, bring me the orb.”

CC-2224 stepped forward again, eyes still on the orb, as the shadows grew more and more defined.

A flash of movement outside the room, a flare of red. Vader’s lightsaber. CC-2224 didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that if Vader got this orb then terrible things would happen.

But it was also, he realized, out of his hands.

The orb, it seemed, had a mind of it’s own.

The lights were dancing through the orb, the shadows growing. and suddenly CC-2224 could _see_ the shapes in the shadows. It was him and his tayl’kar.

His instinct was to quash the memory, to protect it, but it forced it’s way forward and Cody couldn’t stop it.

“Obi-Wan.” The name was wrenched from his throat, CC-2224 wanted to pull it back, wanted to protect it, before the world tried to destroy his precious tayl’kar.

_Cody_.

The world turned green.

—

Time travel, Cody realized, was actually far easier to adjust to then he would have imagined it to be.

Though, Cody admittedly still wasn’t quite sure _when_ he was. The where had been easy. To say his fondest memories had been on the Negotiator might be an exaggeration, but only by a bare margin.The Negotiator was easily recognizable.

The problem was that he had spent a great deal of time on the Negotiator. Even knowing the year, which had been easy enough to discover, was less than helpful. He was nearing the end of the second year of the war. But the war had long blurred in his mind, and he didn’t know what, exactly he had been doing at this particular point in time.

He paced through the ship, anxious. Searching for _him._ His tayl’gar. His cyare. Even though they’d never so much as spoken those words out loud.

_Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan._ He could think the name, think it and not be filled with rage and _death_.

Where was Obi-Wan?

He wasn’t on the Negotiator.

Was he on amission with Skywalker— _Vader_ , who could not be trusted with Obi-Wan’s safety—and the 501st?

Obi-Wan had always been being sent on missions with them. There had always been someone, the Council, the Emperor—Chancellor, he was just a Chancellor for now—pulling Obi-Wan away from him. Away from his men.

Cody didn’t think he’d ever thought of Obi-Wan as being pulled away from him the first time around. Had always considered it _duty_.

But that was _then_. Cody knew exactly what duty would get them. And what it _wouldn’t_ give Cody was his General.

No. Duty would keep them apart, would keep them longing and quiet and holding their hearts away for the sake of their _duty_.

Perhaps the constant separation had even been purposeful, after all, how could Cody keep Obi-Wan safe if he was always being pulled away?

Not that he’d been able to keep him safe, in the end.

“Commander.” A shiny was approaching him, and his movement was all wrong. Timid, scared. “We’ve just received word from Coruscant.”

“What is it?”

“Commander…” The shiny hesitated. “The reports. They’re saying… They’re saying the General’s been killed.”

Cody’s whole world fell apart underneath his feet. _No._ No it couldn’t be. Not when he’d just gotten the chance to get his cyare back. Not when he could _finally_ push his duty to the side and tell Obi-Wan the truth.

“What happened?” The words were shaky, cracking along the edges just like his soul.

The shiny was shaking and trying desperately to hide it. “There was a chase through Coruscant, and a sniper.”

Cody froze. A sniper. His General dying.

_Hardeen_.

For a moment, all the pieces seemed to hover in Cody’s mind, and then they were falling into place. He snapped straight, startling the shiny. They would have to move fast if they would succeed in his plan.

“Gather the men. I have an announcement.”

He wondered if Obi-Wan would consider this the will of the Force.

—

Obi-Wan groaned as consciousness tugged at him.

“It’s all right General,” a familiar voice said. There was a hand in his hair, combing gently. Something about the situation was strange, but his brain was a little too fuzzy to figure out what. “We’ve got you now, you’re safe.”

He forced his eyes open, but things were a still a little blurry. “Cody?” The name came out a little hoarse. His throat _hurt_. He hated the voice box they’d shoved—. His thoughts came crashing to a halt.

Cody was not supposed to be anywhere near him. Cody was supposed to be on a milk-run mission with the 212th in the mid rim. Obi-Wan was supposed to be undercover as a Bounty Hunter.

“Calm down, sir. We took care of Bane and Eval. They weren’t able to help Dooku.”

Somehow, Obi-Wan knew that ‘taken care of’ meant killed. Obi-Wan thought he might impossibly have even _more_ questions than he had before.

Nothing made sense right now.

Cody was still running a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, utterly calm in the Force.

He and Cody had been dancing around each other for nearly a year now, both aware of how the other felt, but neither had acted. Their disparate ranks, the regulations, their duty, all the silent reasons why they _could not_.

Yet, Cody was running his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair with no concern, as though it was something he’d always done.

It was strangely intimate, something Obi-Wan knew he should put a stop to, but couldn’t quite bring himself to, not yet. He would blame it on the strange sluggishness coating his mind and weighing on his body.

He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. Cody was leaning over him, and it took Obi-Wan a moment to realize that he was laying on a bed, his head in Cody’s lap. “What’s going on? Cody, you’re supposed to be—”

“I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” Cody’s hand slipped from his hair, fingers running gently across Obi-Wan’s cheek. “By your side.”

Obi-Wan’s mind froze, barely taking in the declaration as he realized just what Cody had been doing.

Because Cody’s hands had been running through his _hair_.

Hair that Obi-Wan been forced to shave off prior to this mission. He had a very bad feeling about this.

“What did you do?” He didn’t mean for the horror to slip into the whisper that escaped him, but he could tell Cody heard it from the way the skin around his eyes tightened.

“They killed you, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan had never heard Cody say his name before, but even as Cody’s voice bit out the other words, Obi-Wan’s name was said with utter gentleness. “Maybe it was just a trick this time, but eventually—” Cody shook his head. “Eventually they would have killed you for real, would have turned you into nothing more than a memory.” Cody smiled, so very gentle. “But it was a gift from your Force, because if everyone thought you were dead, no one would know to look for you.”

That sent a thrill of unease down Obi-Wan’s back. “Cody—”

“Reports say that the 212th received word of your death and went down in a hail of fire.” Fingers brushed just below his eyes. “They’re saying we couldn’t live without you.”

“ _Cody—”_ Obi-Wan was starting to feel genuinely panicked. Cody was too calm and nothing was making sense. What had Cody _done_? “The Council—”

“We had to convince them you were dead, of course,” Cody continued, as though that had been Obi-Wan’s concern. “They were the only ones who knew you were still alive. The only ones who might have been able to take you away again. We found someone to take your place, we injected the nano-bots restructuring your face into them. Left the body with Bane and Eval. Then we took you. We had to keep you cut off from the Force for a while.” A look of regret crossed Cody’s face. “I’m sorry I kept you asleep so long, but I didn’t want you to be awake for that. But where we are now, they won’t be able to feel you, I woke you as soon as I could. I promise”

There was too much in that to fully unpack, so Obi-Wan focused on what he hoped was the most important bit. He hadn’t noticed at first, too focused on Cody’s presence, but the Force was _strange_ here. Like being surrounded by mist, distorting everything around him until nothing felt quite right.

Cody, so close, was the only thing that felt truly real. Though, there was something different to him. Cody had always been _capable_ of danger, he was a skilled, competent solider. But something had sharpened his Commander’s already sharp edges, had turned him truly _dangerous_ in a way that he’d never been before. “Where are we, Cody?”

Cody leaned forward lips brushing over Obi-Wan’s forehead in a soft kiss. Despite the circumstances, Obi-Wan felt his heart lodge itself in his throat, the quiet intimacy that Cody was treating him with making him ache for more.

“We’re at our new base. I set up a place for brothers to escape to. I couldn’t leave them.” He smiled down at Obi-Wan, and his eyes were so soft, full of love and adoration. Somehow Obi-Wan knew that, no matter Cody’s strange change, he wouldn’t harm Obi-Wan. “You understand? I know it’s not as safe, but I thought you would be willing to accept the additional risk if it meant keeping more of the men safe.”

“I—” Obi-Wan didn’t even know how to respond. “Of course we should be keeping your brothers safe.” He still didn’t know where they were, and that had clearly been intentional. Cody wasn’t going to tell him. Cody had… Cody had _abducted_ him. Had somehow realized that Hardeen was a cover, and had… had taken the entire 212th and Obi-Wan, and had disappeared. “Cody, I can’t stay here. The war. I have to—”

“No.” Cody’s eyes went a little hard. “The war will _kill_ you. It’ll take you from me, it’ll turn you into nothing more than a whisper of a memory.” Cody shook his head, the motion almost violent in it’s vehemence. “I won’t let that happen, not again. I’ve saved you, and I’m saving my brothers. None of us are going to die for them anymore. The galaxy can save itself or it can burn.”

“Anakin—”

“We’re not bringing _Skywalker_.” The words were vicious. Cody had never truly liked Anakin, a matter of their personalities not meshing, but he’d never had a problem with him either. Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine what had caused the disgust that layered Cody’s voice. “He’d betray you in a heartbeat. He’d kill you.”

Obi-Wan wanted to recoil, not sure whether the words or the utter _certainty_ that Cody said them with was more alarming.

“Cody,” Obi-Wan started, but he didn’t know what to say. Cody didn’t _seem_ unhinged, but his actions were starting to truly alarm Obi-Wan. He had to leave. Had to get back to the Jedi, to the war effort. He wouldn’t force the 212th to come with him, if they had finally found safety, than Obi-Wan wouldn’t ask them to follow him back to war. “I—”

“I love you, Obi-Wan.” Cody’s voice broke a little. “Ner tayl’kar. Ner cyare. Ner runi. Ner Obi-Wan. We gave ourselves to duty, once. It destroyed both of us. But the Force gave this to me, Obi-Wan. Gave me the chance to give us something more than duty and death, and I took it, Obi-Wan. I took what the Force gave me.”

The look on Cody’s face was heartbreaking in it’s utter earnestness. There was something like _devotion_. “Oh, Cody.” The words escaped in a whisper, and he brought his own hand up—Force, he’d been asleep for too long, his body felt _heavy_ and _weak_ —gently resting it on Cody’s face where it hovered above him. Letting his fingers trace Cody’s scar.

“It gave me you, Obi-Wan. The Force gave me you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kar’ta - heart; Tome’tayl - memory; Kar’taylir - know, hold in the heart
> 
> So I figured tayl’kar could be an endearment for ‘heart memory’. 
> 
> Ner tayl’kar. Ner cyare. Ner runi. Ner Obi-Wan - My heart memory. My beloved. My soul. My Obi-Wan. (Yeah, sounds better in Mando’a.)


	6. Darth Maul/Obi-Wan, agricorps & sith

_Year 3 of Clone Wars_

“You forgot one very important thing, Lord Sidious.”

Sheev froze, and not just at the unexpected surprise of hearing his Sith title being spoken, here in his domain of power; he could feel the Force twisting around him like vines, keeping him in place. He lashed out in careful strikes, severing the bindings and turned. “And what have I forgotten?” He let his eyes drift over his visitor.

The young man met his eyes easily, and if Sheev hadn’t just felt the Force used against him, he’d have thought nothing of the figure. Dressed in drab, well-worn tunics, the young man in front of him was smiling pleasantly, a faint hint of _danger_ surrounding him.

“What some call trash, others call treasure.”

-_-

_2 weeks after Naboo Invasion_

“Here, you need water.”

Maul shuddered, one hand searching desperately for a weapon—even a particularly heavy rock would do—while he looked up to see who had found him.

A young man about Maul’s own age was crouched a few feet away from him, holding out a small canteen of water.

The young man tossed the canteen closer to where Maul was lying. Maul watched the young man, suspicious, even as he reached for the canteen, trying to hide how desperate he was for the water. Even that small movement sent his whole body racking with pain, radiating from the stab wound.

Quietly he cursed the Jedi for having brought back up. He had not expected two Jedi Masters plus the Jedi padawan.

He sniffed at the water, but smelled nothing unusual, and the Force had no warnings for him. His hand trembled as he carefully tipped the canteen into his mouth, long experience reminding him to go slow.

The young man was watching him, placid and patient. “Looks like you also need medical help. Admittedly, I’m not sure I’d be any use there unless you happen to be a plant?”

The young man raised an eyebrow in a way that made the question seem completely serious, despite the absurdity of the question.

“Not a plant.” The words came out raspy,

The man nodded. “One of my corps members, Kendor, is better at healing, if you’d trust me enough to help you get to him.”

Maul bared his teeth. He might be injured right now, but he was still perfectly capable of taking out some Naboo do-gooder. “What do you want.”

The young man pursed his lips. “I think the two of us can help each other. You need medical help and a place to hide from your Master—former Master, that is—me and my corps need someone with a little more experience with certain things.”

Maul froze, because some Naboo do-gooder, even if they had recognized him as the assassin that had gone after their queen, shouldn’t know anything about his Master.

He launched himself forward, using the pain wracking his body to give him power. The man dodged to the side, one hand coming up and Maul _felt_ the Force push at him, knocking him back.

Maul somersaulted, landing on his feet in a crouch, breathing through the pain.

“ _Jedi_.”

“Not a Jedi.” For some reason that made his opponent smile. “Oh no, no I’m just a farmer. The only reason I’m here, is because Naboo asked for help with the rebuilding.” The young man reached into his belt pouch, and Maul froze at the glowing red holocron in his hand. The very clearly _Sith_ holocron.

-_-

_1 year after Bandomeer_

Obi-Wan jerked awake, the cold hiss of his nightmares echoing in his ears. The phantom sensation of a collar around his neck and a whip leaving marks across his back felt so _real_. His nightmares had been getting worse and worse lately, as though there was something dragging his fears to the surface.

He breathed in deeply, focusing on the scent of dirt and rain, the smells a reminder that he was _safe_. That he was once again with the agricorps and not trapped in a mining colony.

He wasn’t even on Bandomeer anymore, Ilzin Bento, the Jedi lead of the Bandomeer outpost for the Agricorps had taken one look at him, sleep-deprived and anxious two months following his stint in the mines, and had sent him to join a group of Jedi corp workers that were currently in the field.

The group of six had welcomed him warmly, and none of them pressed for details about what had happened to Obi-Wan that had gotten him sent into the field so early, since it was quite clearly not natural talent.

If things had followed their normal pattern, Obi-Wan had been told, he would have stayed on Bandomeer for the first few years while receiving a deeper education on how the agricorps worked, including teaching Force Techniques that weren’t covered in the Temple that would aid him in helping revitalize struggling ecosystems.

Being sent off of Bandomeer so early was rare, and it put Obi-Wan at a slight disadvantage, having to learn everything in the field. But his corp group was patient with him, and there was always someone willing to explain anything Obi-Wan didn’t understand.

Obi-Wan would take the extra work, and the occasional confusion, if it meant that he could stay as far away from Bandomeer as he could get.

He crawled off his sleeping mat, glancing around the small campsite, the others were still sleeping. They hadn’t create a more permanent dwelling yet, they’d keep to a small campsite until they’d gotten a better feel for the land and what it needed.

Obi-Wan wandered to the edge of the camp, considering. Nya and Laude would be ticked at him if he went and got lost. They were almost overbearing with how protective they got over him—Obi-Wan hadn’t yet figured out how to ask them to stop, but the two of them made Obi-Wan feel safer than he had since he’d stepped on board the Monument to leave the Temple, so for now he’d bide his time.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep—he never could after nightmares like the one he’d just had—and as long as he stayed close to their camp, he was sure it’d be fine.

With that reassurance in place, he nodded to himself, slipping out of the camp. The rains had ended—for now at least—and Obi-Wan had to choose his steps carefully in order to ensure he didn’t get stuck in a mud pit.

It had happened to Geil earlier, and it had taken Natani, Fen, and Obi-Wan—with a judicious use of Force—to get Geil free.

He steered his path towards the drowned forest. It was a creepy, almost haunting place. Obi-Wan found it _beautiful_.

He picked his way through the forest, avoiding the mud pits, clambering onto a fallen, dead tree and hopping from log to log.

He didn’t even realize he was following something until he was a good twenty minutes from the camp.

He paused, suddenly uncertain. The sensation pulled at him again, like mist against his senses, wrapping around him and pulling him along.

Obi-Wan stepped back.

_Come, little one. My little, lost Jedi._

Obi-Wan could hear the voice, just at the edge of his mind. “Who are you?”

_Sorrow, little one. I am sorrow. Just as you are._

Obi-Wan frowned at that, there was something about the voice that was _familiar_ , not the actual voice, but the emotion that seemed to underly it. _Loneliness_.

Hesitantly Obi-Wan followed the sensation again, a little more careful this time.

It wasn’t much further and Obi-Wan realized he was moving parallel to an old, long-unused path.

He was most certainly moving _towards_ something.

Even with that awareness, he almost passed by it entirely. It was a shrine of some sort, Obi-Wan had no idea how it was still standing, how it’d survived over 600 years underwater, but standing it was.

He moved closer, curious.

There was something _powerful_ about this place. Something old, long forgotten.

_Come, little one._

“What do you want?” Obi-Wan asked.

_What do all men want?_

Obi-Wan made a face at that, it sounded like the sort of riddle Master Yoda might give—though at least this had been asked in a more sensible word order—which meant there were at least half a dozen answers, and no guarantee of any of them being right.

_Come, little one, I have been alone with the dead and dying for so long._

“You know that sounds really ominous, right,” Obi-Wan informed the voice. “Like you’re going to kill me, or something.”

He didn’t _hear_ laughter, but he still felt the sensation of it.

_I will not kill you, little one._

“Still creepy.” Creepy or not, Obi-Wan found himself painfully curious. He moved closer to the shrine, crouching down to observe it.

There, contained within the shrine, was a strange, red pyramid, small enough it could rest easily in the palm of Obi-Wan’s hand.

-_-

_5 years after Bandomeer_

“This was a mistake.” Obi-Wan didn’t let his voice shake, no matter how much some part of him wanted to.

_Fear does not weaken you, fear gives you strength._

“Do tell, little Obi-Wan.” Xanatos smile was edging towards insanity, like he’d shattered apart and hadn’t found all the pieces when he’d tried to put himself back together. It seemed foolish for Obi-Wan to be afraid of _this_ , but, as his only-occasionally-friendly Sith mentor was inclined to say _childhood trauma, irrational but so very useful_. “What about this is a mistake?”

“They’ll kill you.” It was statement of fact. One that Obi-Wan knew to be true. If any of his family found him like this, beaten, bruised, and bound, then Xanatos wouldn’t survive the aftermath.

That was the whole _point_ of this. It’d been Lord Sorg’s plan.

“Who?” Xanatos scoffed, throwing his head back in a derisive laugh. “The Jedi? They threw you out and forgot about you right after.”

The taunt might have been more effective if Obi-Wan hadn’t been hearing some variation of it from Lord Sorg for the past four years.

The Jedi had been Obi-Wan’s family, once. They weren’t any longer.

Obi-Wan didn’t hate them, much to Lord Sorg’s disappointment. But he didn’t love them anymore either, and apathy, Lord Sorg had decided, would have to do.

“No, not the Jedi. My family.”

Xanatos’ rolled his eyes. “Your scruffy little corps family? That pile of trash?”

Obi-Wan snarled a little at that. “They’re not _trash_.”

“Rejects, every one of them. Just like you are.”

He bared his teeth in his own smile. “Yet, when I went missing, they noticed. When you disappear, will anyone even realize?”

The taunt hit its mark and Xanatos pulled his lightsaber, lighting the amber blade just beneath Obi-Wan’s neck. “Well then, I’ll give them something to—”

Xanatos never finished the sentence, hand moving to his neck, scratching at his neck.

Obi-Wan looked to the side to see Nya standing there, her normally green eyes now yellow, her hand up and clenching around air. “You touched my kid.”

 _Not as glorious as you, Obi-Wan, but she makes a fine Sith_. Sorg sounded pleased. Obi-Wan sighed.

“Nya. Please, just kill him. I want to go back to our ship.”

Xanatos fell to the ground, throat crushed, and Nya turned to him, eyes still that strange yellow. The tall Togrutan woman moved to him quickly, hands brushing over his skin, noting every injury.

“Tell Sorg if he ever endangers you again, I’ll find away to extinguish his spirit.” She pulled him into a hug, tender despite the rage that was still emanating from her. “Let’s get you to Kendor.”

“I’ll let him know.”

 _Well, if she hadn’t been so resistant to Falling, I wouldn’t have needed to pry at her weaknesses. Your love for each other makes you all weak._ It was a very familiar refrain, and had been since Obi-Wan had chosen to share the holocron with his family.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, knowing that Sorg would feel the emotion behind it, and let Nya help him to his feet and back to the rest of their family.

-_-

_7 years after Naboo_

Obi-Wan was smiling at him, his blue eyes gleaming with delight—despite the very clear use of the dark side of the Force in the form of the lightning streaming from his fingers—Obi-Wan excelled in the Force glamours that hid signs of the dark side, perhaps even more talented than Maul’s former Master.

“Do you think he’s learned his lesson?” Obi-Wan asked, cheerful.

Maul turned his head to observe the man writhing on the ground. Maul had already crushed his windpipe enough that while he was still breathing, he couldn’t manage to scream.

“I don’t know, he was _very_ disrespectful to Fen.” Maul shook his head. “And after we did so much to help their village _not_ starve.”

Maul had never expected to become a Farmer—even if it was only part time, and primarily served as an excuse to travel the galaxy, searching for his former Master’s hideouts, traps, and information bolt holes without attracting attention—but there was no denying that the past seven years had been the best of his, previously, miserable life.

Part of that was undoubtedly do to the slightly manic man currently torturing the scum that had tried to grope Fen during the celebration feast.

Obi-Wan was not what Maul had been taught the Sith were. Yet was, all at the same time. He could be as cruel as he could be kind. As sharp as he could be soft. As callous as he could be considerate.

As vengeful as he could be merciful.

Sometimes Maul was tempted to try and tear that softness out of Obi-Wan, to take that seed of not-quite-good and stamp it out. But then Obi-Wan would send that soft smile his direction, and Maul knew without a doubt that he’d obliterate anything that threatened Obi-Wan.

Sometimes he thought that Obi-Wan and his strange kindness—the kindness that was reserved only for the small group that he called family—had chained Maul just as surely as his Master’s cruelty.

Suddenly torturing the fool who’d thought Fen was there to be groped was much less interesting. “Kill him or let me do it,” Maul told Obi-Wan, letting a hint of bossiness slip into his voice.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at him, but with a wave of his hand the piece of scum went limp. “You better have a good reason, Maul. I was enjoying myself.”

Maul stepped forward, slid his hand to the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, and pulled him the short distance down into a crushing kiss.

Obi-Wan seemed shocked—this was not something they’d ever done before—but he fell into the kiss willingly enough.

Obi-Wan pulled back, and Maul was proud to see that Obi-Wan’s Force glamour had slipped, his eyes a beautiful gold. “Sorg _has_ been telling us we need more passion.”

Maul smiled and pulled Obi-Wan back down into a kiss.

-_-

_Year 3 of Clone Wars_

“Master.” The voice behind him was one Sheev had not heard in years, since his apprentice had failed him on Naboo.

Sheev turned, and there his apprentice was. The Zabrak had his lightsaber in his hand, as he stalked smoothly around the room, like the hunter Sidious had molded him into, until he was by the mysterious’ strangers side.

“Maul.” Sheev sneered. “ _This_ is what you call treasure?”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “For someone who prides themselves on their cunning and discernment, you’ve proven yourself quite the fool. It’s almost _too_ easy.”

Sheev scoffed, using the Force to subtly turn off all the recording equipment in the room. He would concoct a realistic story about the assassins that had tried to kill him _after_ he’d gotten rid of these interlopers.

“You overestimate yourself, if you think that you and _this_ failure—” he gestured at Maul, who didn’t seem at all bothered at the dismissal Sheev was showing, a show of growth Sheev had honestly not expected from his failed apprentice, “—are anything other than a nuisance that I’m going to wipe out of existence.”

The stranger shrugged. “Perhaps.” A lightsaber appeared in the stranger’s hand.

Maul lit his saber-staff, followed by the stranger, all three blades glowing a familiar red. Sheev lit his own, only to hear the sudden buzz of several other lightsabers. He turned, six strangers, all just as drab and unassuming as the stranger who’d first invaded his room.

“Who _are_ you?” Sheev asked.

“The rejects,” one said.

“The overlooked and unassuming.”

“The trash.”

-_-

_3 months after the Clone Wars_

“We’re missing something,” Mace said quietly into the Council Chambers.

“Palpatine was the Sith Lord, the evidence is clear. We’ve got his whole plot laid out for us. He and Dooku are both dead. Both Master and Apprentice,” Ki-Adi pointed out.

It had been an argument that had gone around the council chambers time and time again. Yet Mace felt as though they were no closer to an actual answer, it didn’t help that there was absolutely no sign of _who_ had killed Palpatine. Still, the Sith were gone. The war over.

Except, the Force was still dark, there was something _elusive_ , something dangerous.

“We’ll keep our eyes out,” Saesee suggested. “But there is nothing more we can do now. We are needed, now more than ever, and we cannot be distracted by what might be.”

There was no other option for it, though Mace found himself discontent. They had narrowly avoided the Sith’s plans for their destruction, yet Mace couldn’t help but feel that they were not safe yet.

“We’ve got news from the agricorps,” Plo changed the subject. “They’ve extended their reach into Hutt Space and would like us to petition the Senate for more funding, and have sent word that they’re willing to take any of the clones who would like to join them.”

Mace left behind his mulling, turning his attention to the matter at hand. At least the agricorps and their increased presence through the galaxy was a bright spot.


	7. Obi-Wan: Speak for the Voiceless (Melida/Daan)

Obi-Wan stood, shaking slightly but trying to hide it, in the Senate Pod reserved for the Jedi. It was, as far as his reading had told him, more ceremonial than anything. But, he’d done as much research as he could in the few days he’d had before this Senate Session started to ensure that his plan broke no rules.

Those of the Senate that had noticed his presence had sent him strange looks; likely, Obi-Wan assumed, unused to seeing a Jedi padawan within the pod, much less a Jedi padawan alone.

Obi-Wan had considered, for a moment, going to the Jedi Council to plead his case, had _wanted_ to.

But he remembered the way Master Qui-Gon had spoken of the situation, how he had dismissed the Young’s plight as lost, as the Melida and the Daan as inevitably doomed to their grief and hatred.

When faced with Obi-Wan’s pleas and Qui-Gon’s assessment, the Council would undoubtedly accept that Qui-Gon was correct.

It could only be a folly of pride—or perhaps desperation—that caused Obi-Wan to think that in this he knew better than Master Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan swallowed down the grief and pain. He had wanted to stay, wanted to stay and help the Young, help them fight for the peace and freedom they so desperately deserved. Qui-Gon had not allowed it, had dismissed Obi-Wan’s determination to stay behind. Literally dragging him aboard the ship—Obi-Wan begging and protesting the entire time, practically kicking and screaming—and locking him into one of the ship cabins until they were safely in hyperspace

Nield and Cerasi most likely thought that Obi-Wan had abandoned them. Had abandoned their cause. The very thought caused a knot to twist up in his throat as he remembered the two children that he had known for such a short time, for all that his soul thought he might have known them all his life.

The presence of someone stepping into the senate pod caused Obi-Wan to turn. He swallowed hard when he saw Master Windu standing there, face a mask of serenity that entirely hid what he might have thought about finding Obi-Wan in the Senate pod.

“Master,” he said quietly, so as not to catch the attention of the Senators in the nearby pods. He bowed, sliding his hands into his sleeves to hide his trembling.

“Padawan Kenobi.” Master Windu was giving him an appraising look. “We were surprised when the Senate schedule manager reached out to us to clarify what it was the Jedi wished to speak to the Senate about.”

Obi-Wan felt a flush rise in his skin. Because of course, how foolish he’d been to think he could request a moment of the Senate’s time. While his position of Jedi had allowed him the opportunity to speak, he was a mere padawan, however, had not intended to present himself as a representative as the Jedi. He came only with the intent to speak for the Young, to request that the Senate’s approval for aid to be sent, either in the form of Jedi or otherwise.

“They’re _children_ , Master Windu. They need help. _Someone_ must speak for them.”

Master Windu did not speak immediately, his eyes sharp and piercing as they took Obi-Wan in. Obi-Wan did his best not to shy away, meeting Master Windu’s eyes with all the strength he could, baring himself open in the Force. He could likely not hide anything from the Master, even if he had tried, but he wanted the Master to see all that he’d seen. That the Master could _see_ how desperate and sincere his cause was.

“We cannot save everyone, Padawan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan felt his heart shatter a little, as though it had broken against his sternum. “But let us not see if we can’t convince the Senate to let us help these children who so dearly desire peace.”

Obi-Wan found his mouth falling open unflatteringly. “Master?”

“The Young need someone to speak for them, Padawan Kenobi, and you have taken their cause upon your shoulders. The Council shall stand behind you.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Master Windu laid a gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the touch grounding and comforting. For a moment Obi-Wan wished for his own Master. But Master Qui-Gon was at Tahl’s bedside, as he’d been nearly the entire time since they’d left Melida/Daan and then arrived at the temple. “Your compassion does you credit, young Obi-Wan.” Master Windu’s voice was quiet, and there was a quiet approval infused in his words that seemed to fill Obi-Wan’s very soul with confidence. “Now prepare yourself, Padawan Kenobi, the Senate is not easy to convince.”

Obi-Wan straightened his shoulders, turning his eyes back toward the cavernous Senate Dome, full of Senators and others that he had no real knowledge of how to convince, only the barest of diplomacy lessons that all initiates took.

The Young had asked for his help, Obi-Wan had not been able to stay and help them. But that would not stop him.

He would not fail them.

-_-

There had been a part of Obi-Wan that had hoped that he would return to Melida/Daan to find that the Young had already won, that they’d achieved their much-needed peace. But it had not taken long to see that war still ravaged across Melida/Daan.

Obi-Wan had not spent long in the sewers, but he had spent long enough that he was reasonably certain that he was headed in the right direction. “We’re getting close Master Windu,” he whispered.

It had been a long discussion, between the Council and Master Qui-Gon, to determine who would return with Obi-Wan to Melida/Daan.

Master Qui-Gon was his Master, but there were concerns that their previous time on Melida/Daan would have soured all three factions against him.

In the end, it was Master Windu—who had stood behind Obi-Wan through the weeks of Senate committees and his numerous passionate pleas during Senate sessions, giving quiet advice and guidance—who had stepped forward to declare that he would accompany Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan stopped just outside where he knew there would be a few Young keeping watch from alcoves within the sewer walls.

“I wish to speak to either Nield or Cerasi of the Young.”

For a long moment there was only silence, before a young voice answered back. “Who is it?”

“It’s Obi-Wan.”

He could hear muted whispers, before the same voice called back. “Stay there.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at Master Windu, to find the Master’s face lined with quiet grief. “Master?”

“You’re doing well, Obi-Wan,” Master Windu assured him.

Obi-Wan felt a rush of warmth in his chest at the praise, but wouldn’t let it distract him from his question. “Is something the matter?”

Master Windu shook his head. “Even with your warning, it is difficult to sense so many children afraid and in pain.”

Obi-Wan could still remember the first time he’d seen the youngest of the young, dirty faced and grim eyes.

Footsteps were moving towards them and Obi-Wan turned back to face whoever was coming.

Cerasi stepped into view first, Nield behind her. Obi-Wan could see they were both armed, their faces full of suspicion, and perhaps—if it was not Obi-Wan’s own imagination playing tricks on him—the seeds of hope.

“Obi-Wan?” Cerasi’s voice was quiet, that whisper of hope in it. “We thought you’d left?”

“Master Qui-Gon made me leave. But I pled your case to the Senate, I told them what you’ve done, what you were trying to do. I told them that the Young wanted peace.” It felt incredibly important for Cerasi and Nield to know that it was _their_ passion, _their_ hope and determination, that had allowed Obi-Wan to slowly sway the Senate into allowing Jedi interference, that had gained him the promises of reparation and rebuilding aid for Melida/Daan once the war was over. “I’ve brought back help.” He stepped forward, closer to Cerasi and Nield. “We’re going to help Melida/Daan find peace.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling a little too exhausted to write for my actual stories, because that requires a lot more plotting and forethought, so disconnected, one-shots it was. 
> 
> If you have any prompts you'd like to see, feel free to send them in via my Tumblr - https://feybarn.tumblr.com


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